


for you made a home in my dreams, and now your ghost moves in me

by humanveil



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mental Instability, Mind Palace Will, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, not as sad as it looks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-01 20:16:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6534853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal survives the fall, and, in the deep corners of his mind, Will does, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for you made a home in my dreams, and now your ghost moves in me

**Author's Note:**

> The italics is what's going on in Hannibal's mind. Real life and his mind palace overlap a bit, so sometimes it's hard to keep track of what's real and what isn't, but I tried to make it read easy. I hope you enjoy!

Hannibal’s body is numb. He's not sure if it's due to the freezing water, the adrenaline from the fight, or a product of the limp body lying in his lap. He doesn't care. It doesn't matter.

He ignores his own injuries, the blood gushing from the bullet wound in his stomach, from the fresh cut on the back of his head, goes unnoticed. Instead, he places all of his attention on Will. His hands clutch at wounds, his body covering the other to keep it warm, all in a futile attempt to stop the inevitable.

His mind, muddled with his own blood loss, with the impact of the dive into the ocean, clings to any and all medical information he can remember. His body trembles, equal parts due to the freezing water that soaks his clothing, and the all consuming fear he hasn't felt in years, not since he was a small child.

There's noise in the distance, something akin to a siren. He can't make it out over the crashing of waves, and has no wish to try harder. It hardly registers, not until there are hands pulling him away, restraining him. He struggles, as hard as he can in his injured state, to return to Will’s side, to the body that still hasn't moved.

They're stronger than he is, though, and manage to pull him away completely, until the body is out of sight, and all he has left is the blood on his hands.

*

Hannibal wakes in the medical ward of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, his body aching all over. He looks himself over, biting back a groan as pain shoots through him each time he moves. He can see dark, purplish bruises colouring his torso, and poorly done stitches holding his skin together.

He sighs, feeling the leather that restrains his arms and legs to the metal bed frame. An unnecessary precaution. The deep wound in his leg wouldn't allow him to walk, at least not quick enough to execute another escape.

Leaning his head against the thin pillow, he let's his eyes close. When he opens them, the previously empty bed across from his is filled.

_“You're supposed to duck.”_

_Hannibal’s lips twitch, pleased to see Will well enough to joke._

_“Somehow, I don't think it would have helped.”_

_“Well, we won't know now, will we?”_

_“Perhaps there will be another time.”_

_Will grins, the movement pulling on the wound that runs through his cheek. He shows no obvious signs of pain._

_“Let's hope not.”_

_Hannibal hums, noncommittal. “How are you feeling?”_

_“Perfect,” Will replies, his grin not diminishing in the slightest. Hannibal knows it's a lie, can see the bruises and wounds, the IVs and machines. He doesn't mention it. “And you?”_

_“I've been better.”_

_“Yes, you have,” Will answers, his smile finally dropping. With a sigh, he gets up from the bed and moves to Hannibal’s side, a beeping machine rolling behind him. “You look horrible.”_

_“I imagine I would.”_

_“I'm sorry,” Will says, hand reaching for Hannibal’s once he's in reach. “It…was an impromptu decision.”_

_“It's alright,” Hannibal soothes, surprised to find he means it._

_Will takes a seat on the edge of his bed, his hand moving from Hannibal’s grip to the stitched bullet wound, his fingers hovering over the cut without touching. “No, it's not.”_

_Watching him, Hannibal smiles. “Nothing we can't heal from.”_

_After a moment of silence, Will nods slowly. “Perhaps you ought to rest,” he murmurs. “You'll heal faster.”_

_“Perhaps.”_

_“Definitely,” Will says, smiling again. “Go on. I'll be here when you wake up.”_

_Hannibal nods once, the thought calming, and closes his eyes, allowing Will’s steady breathing to lull him to sleep.  
_

He wakes to a nurse hours later, three other orderlies positioned around the room. His only response to her inquiry about his wellbeing is to ask where Will went, and, in his drug muddled state, he doesn't quite comprehend the pitying look he receives in return.

He falls back asleep not long after, pleased to meet Will once more.

 

_**three months later.** _

 

_Soft breams of sunlight creep through the window, casting light shadows across Will’s face and making his eyes appear almost grey as he gazes up at Hannibal. There's a smile on his lips, barely present but it warms Hannibal’s heart all the same._

_He traces a finger across Will’s cheek, his touch feather light, the pad of his thumb catching on the light stubble. Smiling back at him, Hannibal closes the distance between them, their lips moving against each other's in a now familiar gesture._

_They're in Italy again, Venice this time. Their home a vast apartment in a tall building, filled with antique furniture and complete with too large windows, giving them the perfect view of the city beneath. Will enjoys standing in front of them, basking in the warm rays of sun as he watches the water, the soft ripples that appear with each gondola that passes, beautiful against the vibrant yet somehow still faded colours of the surrounding buildings._

_Hannibal merely enjoys watching Will._

_Pulling away, Hannibal nuzzles against Will’s neck, eyes closing as he buries his face against the exposed skin. He feels Will’s fingers find their way to his hair, the digits combing through the greying strands, making Hannibal sigh softly._

“Hannibal.”

_He burrows further into Will’s side, content to stay there the rest of the day._

_“Hannibal?”_

_“Hmm?”_

“Hannibal!”

_“I'm starving.”_

_“I'll make you something.”_

_His words are mumbled against Will’s skin, his lips leaving a damp trail over the other man’s shoulder. He waits another moment before pulling away from the warmth, placing another quick kiss to Will’s ready lips before standing._

“Hannibal!”

An annoyed sigh leaves the doctor’s mouth, and his gaze finally moves towards where Alana stands, safe behind the glass. “Yes?”

His previously filled cell is now barren, it's only contents a single, metal framed bed and toilet. A punishment for his attempted escape. Hannibal finds he doesn't care; not while he still has his mind, his memory.

Tapping on the metal slot imbedded in his cell wall, Alana says, “Breakfast.”

Repressing a sigh, he stands, moving through the protocol without thought.

*

She would never admit it if asked, but, sometimes, Alana watches Hannibal.

She'll stand just outside his sight range and stare. Never for very long, there isn't a lot to see, but she finds herself completely fascinated with how he seems content to just sit perched on the uncomfortable bed, head tilted back against the wall, and think.

She had expected something would change after Will’s death, but part of her had thought he'd become more violent, not…this. It was as if he were completely wrapped up in his own mind, only emerging when called continuously.

She supposed it should be worrying, but it was easier to leave him be. Everyone had their own coping mechanisms, and she knew better than to set of the beast.

Sighing, she steps closer to his cell, unsurprised when he doesn't acknowledge her. She moves to the slot, placing the standard paper and pencils there before standing back and calling his name.

Nothing.

She calls out again, noticing the visible shift in his face as he comes back to reality.

“Hello, Alana.”

She ignores the greeting, seeing no need to entertain him. “Paper,” he says, tipping her head in the direction of the slot. “And pencils. For you to write letters.”

“My reward for being good?”

Alana doesn't answer the question, just turns and walks away. “No drawing.”

*

Alana turns the letter around in her hands, inspecting it to make sure it wasn't a fragment of her imagination. When it doesn't disappear, she sighs, lets it drop to her desk, and leans against her chair.

When she had told Hannibal to write letters, she hadn't expected this. She had expected… anything but _this_.

Will’s name covers the envelope, displayed in Hannibal’s perfect penmanship. Under it lies an address Alana has never seen before, one she isn't entirely sure exists. She's not sure what to do, unaware if it’s a sick joke or not.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she shoves the letter into her top draw, and makes a mental note to see Hannibal later.

*

_“Again? Please?”_

_Hannibal laughs, the sound barely an exhale of air. He dips his head and places a kiss against Will’s neck, shaking his head._

_“Forgive me. I'm not as young as I once was.”_

_Will pouts, his bottom lip pushing out in a beautifully delectable way, but he doesn't ask again. “Maybe later, then.”_

_“If you're good.”_

_“My favourite reward,” Will jokes, cuddling against Hannibal’s side. “Play with my hair.”_

_Smiling, Hannibal reaches a hand to Will’s curls, his fingers threading through the soft locks. “Demanding brat,” he murmurs, his tone fond._

_“You made me this way.”_

_“I will admit I brought it out in you.”_

_“Like so many other traits.”_

_Hannibal hums, but says nothing further. He allows himself to bask in the warmth radiating from Will’s body, to cherish the feel of their bodies pressed together, not a care in the world. He listens to Will’s breathing even out, sleep creeping through his own body. He's on the brink of unconsciousness, seconds away from sleep when a knock on their door sounds._

_He intends to ignore it, but the noise only gets louder, more insistent. He can hear Will sigh, feels him shift into a sitting position._

_“_ Hannibal.”

_“Someone always has to ruin the moment.”_

_“Evidently,” Hannibal replies, unmoving. “Answer it for me?”_

_Will smiles but shakes his head, “I can't.”_

_“Why not?”_

_Another knock comes, this time sounding as if their intruder was tapping on glass._

_“Because I can't,” Will says. “Go. It sounds important.”_

_Hannibal still shows no indication to move, and Will rolls his eyes. “Tell them to piss off, and then come back to me. The noise is annoying.”_

_Repressing another sigh, Hannibal finally stands. “Perhaps not as rudely.”_

_As he moves towards the door, the antique décor of their home fadds away to a frugal cell._

He stands mere meters from the glass, eyes boring a hole to where Alana had just been tapping.

“I don't think that was entirely necessary, Alana.”

“If wouldn't be, if you answered when originally called.”

She waits for a response, only mildly annoyed when she doesn't get one. Instead, Hannibal clasps his hand in front of him, rocking on the balls of his feet slightly while he waits for Alana to state her reason for being there.

After another moment, she simply says, “I can't send the letter you gave me.”

“Why not?”

Alana stares at him, eyebrow cocked in surprise. “You know perfectly well why.”

“Actually,” he responds quietly. “I've no idea.”

Alana takes a moment before replying, wondering, again, if he's playing with her. Yet there's nothing to suggest he is, only the pure absurdity of his statement. His face is sincere, his body in a stance that doesn't hint to a lie. She's just short of horrified when she realises he’s telling the truth.

“Hannibal,” she says, slowly, carefully. “Will’s dead. I already told you that. I let you read about his funeral.”

Hannibal simply stares at her, his lips pressed into a thin line. He remembers hearing of Will’s death, remembers reading the article, but he also remembers seeing Will once Alana had taken the paper away, remembers talking to him for hours.

He couldn't be dead, Hannibal decided. Not if he still visited.

He makes his way back to his small bed and reoccupies his previous seat, his gaze finally dropping for Alana. “Send the letter.”

“Hann—”

“Goodbye, Alana.”

_Will smiles at him as he renters the room, their crimson sheets pooling around his waist, displaying his naked chest. Hannibal calms instantly at the sight, and gratefully crawls back under the covers, happy to have Will pressed against him again._

_“Who was it?”_

_“No one important,” Hannibal tells him, lips prested to his forehead. “Shall we sleep?”_

_“Mmhmm, sounds perfect.”_

_“You won't leave?”_

_“Like I'd ever want to.”_

 

_**one month later.** _

 

Hannibal ends his letter with a flourished signature, pleased with the words he has just written. He has a desk now, another reward for good behaviour, and he finds himself writing more than he used to.

Today's letter is not to Will, rather it is addressed to Bedelia. Her name is displayed on the envelop in perfect, cursive handwriting, her last known address printed beneath it. He's realised over the past few weeks that Alana won't send his letters to Will, and so this is the only way.

He checks his letter over, sealing the paper within the envelope when done. Standing, he walks towards the mail slot and puts the letter through, only calling for an orderly when he's back behind the desk. Denise comes through not long after, taking the letter before leaving quickly, unresponsive to his statement of thanks.

He doesn't care. Slipping into the familiar hallways of his mind palace, it all seems incredibly unimportant.

_The sound of Will’s joyful giggle greets him as he enters their home, bringing an immediate smile to his face. He rounds the corner and enters their living room, raising an eyebrow when he walks in on Will and a small, playful puppy._

_“Should I ask how you came to acquire her?”_

_“Best not,” Will answers, holding the pup to his chest and standing. “She's an adorable little thing, though. Look at her.”_

_Will moves towards him, and Hannibal looks at the mutt. She's covered in ginger-brown fur, fluffy and freshly washed, seemingly soft to touch. Her front left paw is wrapped in a small white bandage, and her big, brown eyes gaze up at Hannibal, curious. Grudgingly, he admits she is rather adorable._

_“Does she have a name?”_

_“Sif.”_

_“As in the Norse goddess?”_

_“Mmhm,” Will hums, pressing his cheek against the soft fur and gazing up at Hannibal. “I liked the sound. What'd you bring home?”_

_“Meat.”_

_“Provided by yourself?”_

_Hannibal smirks, “Always is.”_

_Will follows him into the kitchen, squirming puppy still held tightly against his chest. “Should've taken me with you.”_

_“I will,” Hannibal promises. “Next time.”_

_*_

Alana reads the letter once, and then once more. She had been surprised to see Bedelia’s name there, having gotten used to seeing Will’s.

It was a simple letter, really; a casual inquiry about her wellbeing. The only shocking thing about it was Hannibal’s add on at the end, where he asks Bedelia to do him one last favour, and get Will to visit again.

Despite telling him more than once, Hannibal still insists on Will being alive. Not verbally, but subtly, through the letters that come to Alana at least once a week. She doesn't read any of them, despite her curiosity. Instead, she stacks them in a compartment of her desk, unsure if she should burn them or not. She knows she can't send them, they wouldn't end up anywhere.

This one, however, can be sent. Hannibal’s request beside, there is nothing in his writing that breaks any rules.

And, Alana thinks, it might be good for Hannibal to hear of Will’s death from someone else.

* 

Hannibal doesn't bother standing when Alana visits him next. Rather, he continues to lie on his back, eyes open and gazing at the all too familiar white ceiling. He speaks before Alana has the chance.

“Has there been a response from Dr. Du Maurier?”

“Not yet,” Alana tells him. “I only sent it last week.”

“Then it won't come,” Hannibal murmurs. “Bedelia never liked late answers. Nor has she shown any inclination to reply to me in the past.”

“You sound upset.”

“I enjoy her company.”

Alana nods in recognition, but doesn't comment. “You do have fanmail,” she tells him, and he can hear the disapproval in her tone. “I'll leave it in the slot.”

He hums, but says nothing further, and makes no move to retrieve the mail once Alana disappears.

 *

Alana smiles as Bedelia steps into her office, pleased to see the other woman there. Her phone call had been a last minute decision, but Hannibal’s infatuation with Will had only gown stronger in the previous weeks, and Alana was running out of ideas. It had taken some talking into, but she had eventually got the blonde to agree to a conversation with Hannibal.

“Thank you, for this.”

Bedelia’s head moves in a single nod, her lips tilted in a polite smile. “I was surprised to hear you cared at all.”

“Normally I wouldn't,” Alana admits. “But it's… worrying. He's started talking to himself aloud. I think he thinks he's talking to Will.”

Bedelia sighs, but doesn't comment on it. “Take me to him. I doubt anything will come of it, but…”

“It's worth a shot.”

*

_A body lies on the table before them, blood colouring almost everything in sight, overwhelming the senses in the most addicting way. Hannibal stands behind Will, his hand situated on each of the younger man’s hips, his thumbs stroking softly, soothing._

_“How do I do it?”_

_“Gently,” Hannibal murmurs, mouth hovering above Will’s ear. “You don't want to spoil the meat.”_

_Exhaling quietly, Will pulls the left lung from the open chest, hands almost trembling as he places it into the ready container. Hannibal’s lips press against his cheek for a brief moment, and Will leans into the touch, eyes closing for the briefest of moments._

_“You're doing beautifully, my darling boy.”_

_Will turns his head, his lips pressing against Hannibal’s gently. “Is this what you wanted?”_

_Hannibal’s grip tightens, and his head bobs in the briefest of nods. “More than I ever imagined I would get.”_

_Will smiles, his mouth opening to say something, but then stops abruptly._

_“What is it?”_

_“Someone’s coming.”_

_“Wha—”_

_“Go,” Will tells him quickly, pressing their lips together once more. “I’ll wait for you to come back.”_

_Reluctantly, Hannibal drops his hands from Will’s, turning to—_

“Bedelia,” he says, voice quiet and calm as he draws out the name, his lips tilted in a smile. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hannibal,” she replies, taking the chair handed to her by Alana and placing it in front of his cell.

“For what do I owe the pleasure?”

“A request,” Alana cuts in. “Of mine. I want her to assess you.”

“Assess me for what?”

“Everything,” Alana tells him, watching Bedelia as she takes her seat.

The blonde places her bag at her feet before resting one leg over the other, her manicured hands smoothing over her thighs. “I'd prefer to do this alone,” she says. “If that's an option.”

“I won't be staying,” Alana replies.

“And the nurses?”

“They're here for your protection.”

“I doubt he's going to break the glass,” Bedelia murmurs, cocking an eyebrow. “This will be more beneficial if we are left alone.”

Alana agrees, albeit reluctantly, and soon Hannibal is left with only Bedelia for company. He takes the chair from his desk and drags it closer to the glass, positioning it right in front of her before taking his seat, his stance a mirror of hers..

“Just like old times, then?”

“Not quite,” Bedelia answers. “Too much has happened for anything to be just like before.”

“You received my letters.”

It's not a question, but Bedelia answers anyway. “Of course.”

“You never replied.”

“I didn't see a need to.”

“Then why come today? Surely there's a reason, other than Alana’s request.”

Bedelia pauses for a moment, the silence stretching between them as she looks Hannibal over. Finally, she admits, “I never could pass up an opportunity to get inside your head.”

“And what do you hope to find today?”

“Will Graham is dead,” Bedelia says it as a fact, her voice cold, collected, no room for argument. “I went to the funeral. I saw the body. I can confirm his death, and yet you still believe he is alive.”

Hannibal’s eye twitches, and Bedelia relishes in the tiny movement. A small victory, of sorts.

“I want to know why.”

Hannibal clasps his hands over his knee, facial expression giving away nothing.

“You say you've seen the body,” he starts, maintaining eye contact with her. “Yet so have I. Alive and well, after this supposed funeral.”

“How?”

“He visits me.”

“He cannot visit you, Hannibal. Not from the grave.”

Hannibal stares, unresponsive. When it becomes apparent he has no intention to answer, Bedelia attempts another approach.

“His name does not appear in your visit records, not since before your attempted escape. That is hardly something they would not document.”

“He comes to me in my mind palace,” Hannibal tells her, after a considered pause. “We share many rooms together, constructed from much of the same memory.”

Bedelia considers the response. A memory palace is, of course, a concept she is familiar with. She has heard Hannibal mention his many times before, yet she fails to understand how the man could be so insistent of Will’s state, based only on his what’s in his mind.

“Your Will is a fragment of your imagination. Nothing more,” she tells him, head tilted slightly to the side. “What you are describing is impossible.”

“How would you know?”

“Hannibal,” Bedelia starts, and then stops herself, going quiet once more.

She considers his responses, what she knows of him and how he thinks. It seems… illogical that he would be so adamant, so certain that Will was alive, even when all the signs pointed to the opposite.

Love really did make everyone a fool, she supposed.

“You really believe it, don't you?”

“Yes.”

Bedelia refrains from shaking her head, genuinely surprised at her realisation.

“Nothing I say will change that, will it?”

“Nothing you say, nor anyone else, will make me doubt my own mind.”

“Are you happy like that? Seeing him only in your mind?

“As happy as I can be, until we are with together once again.”

He says it with such sincerity, Bedelia doesn't bother arguing. It is obvious he won't believe her, and even if he did, she doubts anything would change. Sighing, she lets both feet drop to the floor, picks up her bag, and stands.

“I think its time for me to leave.”

Hannibal nods, but remains seated, his head tilting back to look at her.

“Did you get what you came for?”

“I do believe I did,” he replies, voice oddly quiet. She spares him one last glance before turning. “Goodbye, Hannibal.”

*

“ _That was quick.”_

_“I was eager to come back.”_

_Will smiles at him, even more beautiful with the blood splatter covering his clothes. “I removed the rest of them.”_

_Hannibal steps to his side, arm winding its way around Will’s waist. He inspects the body, the incisions Will has made, the organs resting in the now full container._

_“And what a wonderful job you did.”_

_Will leans into his touch, welcoming the kiss when Hannibal gives it to him. “Can we go home now?”_

_Burying his nose into the softness of Will’s curls, inhaling the familiar scent, now tainted with blood, Hannibal nods. “Home. Yes.”_


End file.
